She lifted her hand to touch his lips, compelled by feelings she did not yet understand.
“I would far rather you lived,” she told him. As she watched him looking at her, watched the desire written on his face and felt his breath upon her fingers, it was as if the rest of the world had shrunk away. The sounds of the cathedral, its echoes and sighs and creaks, were muffled. Instead of feeling anxious that they could be observed or overheard by someone, other people ceased to be of importance. All that mattered at that moment was him. All that she wanted at that moment was to be with him. To hold him and be held by him.
She leaned forward and he let his arm drop behind her to pull her close, encircling her into a warm embrace.
“Hecate,” he said again, softly yet fiercely, and the sound of her name spoken in such a way made her shiver. “You have it about you to reduce a man to blasphemy, for I am certain I hold a goddess in my arms.”
He took hold of her hand and kissed her fingers, before he slowly, tenderly, kissed her mouth.
When she opened her eyes and looked at him again, Hecate became aware of a joy welling up inside her. She slipped from his grasp, standing up, brushing down her skirts.
“It is pleasantly fresh outside after the rain, had you noticed?” she asked.
Surprised at this change of subject, John laughed lightly. “Yes. When I passed along the cloisters earlier the gardens were looking particularly fine.”
Without looking at him she said, “I believe it is precisely the best sort of day for hearing good news.”
She heard him gasp.
“Hecate … my dearest…”
“I wanted to catch you on your own to speak to you,” she explained quickly, “but you are so busy. I saw you in the vestry earlier, but Mr. Gould is such a tittle-tattle, and such news should be ours for the sharing, don’t you think?”
He stood up. “Hecate, please look at me.”
She did so, raising her face to him with a cheerful smile.
“I would not want you to make a decision in haste,” he told her. “That is to say, of course I would not wish to give you pause, only … Such a big decision … such … not an easy thing, and…”
“Why Reverend Forsyth, I have never before, I think, seen you at a loss for words.”
“Can you blame me? When my future lies in your hands? In the few words that you may be about to utter? I want you to be certain, Hecate. Certain that this is what you want. Not what you think you should do. Not a choice made to please anyone else. Be certain that it is what you want?”
She took his hands and held them both, lifting them to her lips for the very lightest of kisses.
“Do you think I can be a good wife to you, John?” she asked, equally sincerely.
“Truly, I can imagine none other,” he said.
“Well then, only one question remains.”
“Which is?”
“Will you tell Mother our happy news, or shall I?”
The heavy marble and rough ancient stone presented no barrier to communication between the restive spirits. In sounds that were not quite words they called to one another, each urging the other on, repeating the urgency for action, the need to rise. Both had been woken from their sleep of centuries, summoned by a force they could not resist. The moment had come for them to wake and to answer the call of their forefathers. But theirs was not a joyous awakening. This moment was not simply for their own freedom, or even for the greater task destiny had chosen for them. These two spirits had a singular task, immediate and dangerous. Dangerous because there would be no time for them to seek out hosts. No time for them to become Embodied, corporeal, secure in a new living person who wielded physical strength and social power. These two would have to act as they were, newly risen, nothing more than fierce energy, dark magic, and wicked intent driving them forward.
We are called!
We must act!
We cannot fail or all will be lost!
The spirits writhed and twisted in their tombs, and as they did so the bones and fragments of cloth and precious metals which were all that lingered of their earthly lives disintegrated further. Soon the coffins contained nothing but that impure, singular energy which grew and grew, the pressure on the antique caskets increasing until, at last, as if dynamited, they burst apart. The spirits sprang free of their miserable confinements, erupting into the cold, dark air of the crypt. They swirled about the low vaulted ceiling, slowly becoming denser and more visible. Not as human forms, but as a shadowy mass, pulsating and pullulating, so that they became bigger and stronger, until they had reached their full potential. Had anyone looked into the solemn space at that moment they would have seen dense shadows with no person to cast them. But the day was over, the evening beginning, and there were no people near the crypt. Not then.
The spirits moved together, forming a single mass at the foot of the stone stairs, their single thought brought to bear on the one they hunted.
She must be stopped.
She must be stopped!
We will finish her!
They crouched on the cold flagstones and there they stayed, listening. Waiting.
28
“Not Phileas and his lovely cows, then?” Charlie asked as he climbed into bed.
“Sorry, no.” Hecate smiled at him. “But at least when I am living in the cloisters you may visit me and I will show you all sorts of hidden places in the cathedral. Places most people aren’t ever allowed to see. John has promised to take you up into the bell tower if you should like to go,” she told him, tucking the covers in around him.
His face brightened then. “Might I be permitted to ring one of the bells?”
“Who knows, you just might!” she said.
It was good to see him happy, but the evening’s excitement had worn him out, and it showed in the dark circles beneath his eyes. When she and John had arrived home and asked to speak to her parents, Charlie had, initially, been kept out of the room. Only when John had announced his intention and gained Edward’s permission to marry Hecate had the door been thrown open and an impromptu party begun. Beatrice, aglow with excitement, had asked the maid to bring wine and glasses and Cook to join them in the dining room. Charlie had been a little shy with John at first, but had been won over by discovering a shared interest in historic ships. Hecate’s father had taken her to one side quietly and asked a single question.
“Is this what you want?”
